i would have let you - Bellarke soulmate AU
by ileftherbehind
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke are soulmates in a world where the soulmate connection is rare. She dreams of his life. He dreams of hers.
1. Chapter 1

**A Bellarke soulmate AU where soulmates are a rarity. You live their lives in your dreams.**

She was only a child when she got scared of sleeping. When the only thing she saw was pain and hatred, and the yelling ruptured her heart at night. She usually called for her mother, letting the tears wash away the visions of broken glass and worn out clothes. But later, when her father got shot in front of her eyes, she wondered; is anyone seeing this? Would they get their mom to comfort them? As she thought of her own visions, and the poor soul who was seeing those things, she figured that, no, they would see this by themselves. From then on, she woke up, and cried in silence.

He was only a child when he noticed how terrifying the world of the living was, and, compared to that, how safe his dreams were. His dreams of laughter; wild, blonde waves being shaken into eyes; sunlight through a window and stainless curtains. It was after his sister was born that he stopped dreaming. He had to protect her, and he couldn't do that while he was asleep. So he gave up on watching those skilled hands perfect the drawings of little humans, or nests of puppies, or pretty flowers, or whatever they were drawing this time. Once in a while, he fell out for longer than he wanted to, and he could see; he could wander in his little world of peace before being sent straight back to hell.

As she grew up, her mother taught her that she'd been blessed with a soulmate. Certainly, Clarke thought, the use of the word blessed would've been an accident. She was hurting when she woke up and he'd gotten hurt that day because of his parents, or because he left his sister crying because he was just so desperate. She didn't want to know, but she also wanted to know more. She wanted to help, but there was no way she could.

He didn't know about soulmates. He kept telling his sister to go to sleep, to go to Elysium, as he called it, the place where all blessed people went. But she woke up crying every time, and when he dreamt of a man collapsing with a hole in his chest, he saw it wasn't all good. It left a sting in his heart. He wondered why, why did he have these dreams? And when Octavia could finally tell him what she dreamt of, she saw everything that happened to them. So what was the deal with the blonde curls and the unknown faces in his dreams?

Life went on and, with or without the dreams, they grew up. Clarke knew by then, that the other's dreams were a boy's, and he and his sister needed peace. She didn't know how to get them that. On a peaceful Sunday, in one of the last weeks before going off to college, she drew up a perfect picture of his little sister. Near perfect, because she couldn't produce a smile she had seen only rarely, but she tried. And she stared, for a long time, then went to bed.

He saw it as he collapsed after a long shift in the cafe where he worked. When he woke up in the morning, he could only cry. It was beautiful, but the smile, it wasn't right. He knew when he saw Octavia in the morning, the young teenager, who still liked to crawl in his bed occasionally. When she was off to school, he tried to draw up a message back. But he couldn't think of anything specific to draw, and got mad at himself. There was someone trying to communicate with him, but he didn't know what to tell her. He wasn't even sure whether all this was real, or whether he was just going crazy. By the time he had considered everything, it was time for work. He wanted to start college in a few weeks, and wanted to finish that desperately. He needed every penny he could get.

* * *

Clarke threw her bag on the bed and shoved her suitcase under it. There was a case on the other side of the room, but no person attached to it. They would arrive anytime now, for sure. The blonde put a few things on the nightstand, her alarm clock for instance, and settled on the bed with her sketchbook in her hands. The pages had started to bubble from water paint and the book was slightly swollen. It was also nearly full; she needed a new one. Again.

She was considering drawing the view from the small window - which was on her roommate's side, of course - but had only put down one line when the roommate in question barged in.

"Oh- hi," the Latina spoke, raising one perfect eyebrow.

"Hi," Clarke replied, stepping back and lowering the sketchbook. With a snap, she closed it, and folded the pencil and the book in her left hand. "I'm Clarke Griffin." She reached out with her other hand.

The other shook it. "Raven Reyes," she announced. "Aerospace Engineering."

Clarke chuckled, then lifted the sketchbook a little. "Art."

Raven could see the humour in that, and laughed too. "Figures. Do you mind?"

The blonde stepped off. "Sure," she said, and sat back on her bed as Raven dropped her bag onto her own. She started digging in it until she pulled out a crackling plastic package.

"Ah, I've missed these. Lollipop?" she offered, but Clarke shook her head, with a question mark on her forehead. As Raven freed one of its wrapper, she explained: "I'm a basic mechanic, right? I always loved to eat these as I was busy fixing things, but my boyfriend didn't really like me eating them, so I quit. Thank god that ended. He was screwing someone else." She popped the red, hard candy into her mouth.

"I'm sorry," Clarke replied, and felt the urge to ask for a lollipop anyway, even though she didn't really like them.

"Nah, no biggie," Raven waved it off. "I can finally focus on getting this degree. Always wanted to go to space," She smiled, and wiggled her eyebrows a bit. "Maybe I'll get the chance."

Clarke returned the smile. "I hope you do."

* * *

Balancing college, two jobs and being the closest thing to a parent that Octavia had, was harder than he had originally thought. But he managed, he liked to tell himself. He majored in history, and because he'd dropped that on a friend sometime a go, he now worked a job at the museum, which was most definitely not a bad one. He had Jasper to thank for that, who happened to know Dante Wallace, the manager. It was one of the best jobs he had ever had, and things seemed to be going well for Bellamy.

He wandered about the museum, making sure to stay in his section, to watch whether everyone remained at a safe distance from the art. Wouldn't want to have anything damaged because some idiot decided to feel if it was real.

He walked back to the expressionist section, to find a woman bent forward, nearly pressing her nose into a Rothko. He frowned and stepped forward.

"The details are hard to see, right?" he joked as he halted next to her. A Rothko was a simple painting with maybe one or two squares of one colour. There wasn't any detail to see.

She blushed, and stumbled back. "I'm sorry, I get so caught up in these." She gestured to the orange square on the red background.

Bellamy thought she was pretty. Sky eyes, and the hair reminded him of the wavy locks in his dreams. But hers were pulled back into a braid. The red on her cheeks faded slowly. He chuckled, and turned to watch the painting as well. "I could understand, don't worry," He took a moment to take in the colours, then said: "Just make sure you stay at the assigned distance."

She confirmed that with a nod. "Sure, I'll watch it next time."

He nodded as well, and aisled onward until his shift ended.

That night, he saw a lot of red and orange in his dream.

* * *

She had never dreamt about her own experiences, but she had now. The painting had shown up in her dream that night.

She didn't pay too much attention to it. Perhaps the painting had been even more intense than she thought. She started her day like every other.

After three weeks, she finally spotted him across the lecture hall in English. Her jaw dropped when she realised the undeniably cute security guard in the museum was going to her college. He had a head of dark, messy curls and puppy eyes that could probably make anyone melt. And, bonus, he knew a little about art - at least she hoped, or the museum wouldn't have hired him.

When he rushed out of the lecture hall quickly after the professor finished, she caught up with him, catching onto his sleeve. "Hey," she announced herself.

He stopped, jerking his head around to her. "Ye- Oh, hi," he muttered, realising who she was. He showed her a quick smile.

"Do you major in art as well?" she promptly asked.

He shook his head. "No, history. I just have my... connections, with the manager of the museum," he explained vaguely, then proceeded to walk backwards, away from her. He looked apologetical. "I'm in a hurry, see you later?"

"Sure," Clarke replied, but he didn't hear her. She frowned. She still didn't know his name.

* * *

Bellamy tried to keep his mind off of the pretty blonde, but since she approached him, she kept hovering in his thoughts. He waited to fall asleep to consider whether she was the girl in his dreams. But it couldn't be. They hadn't met before.

She majored in art. She'd told him that. But that was all he knew. He didn't even know her name.

A week after she told him that, something awful happened.

Octavia got sick. A simple disease that young children have, and get vaccines against. But O hadn't been a wanted child. And because of that, their parents started drinking. And because of that, they'd never taken proper care of her. Bellamy should've done that. So when she fell ill, he blamed himself. When he couldn't really get the money he needed for healthcare, he blamed himself. He was lucky to get a loan from his friend Murphy, even though he wouldn't know where the money came from. It's money, and all that mattered was Octavia. He sat at the hospital and looked at her. He was exhausted and hungry, but not nearly as hungry as the guilt that was eating away at him.

When the nurse kicked him out the next morning, telling him that his sister will be fine, he didn't know what to do. He couldn't go home and sleep, could he? Going to school wouldn't really work out either. He knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate. But he went anyway, even though it was early in the morning. He entered the building where classes are held when it wasn't even light out.

He was going straight for the library, but when he passed a classroom where a little light illuminated the walls, he couldn't resist taking a peek inside.

Of all the students that stayed up until half five to finish their assignments, how lucky would he be to run into her? "What are the odds," he expressed out loud.

She was painting when he came in, but she swiveled her blonde head around to look at him. Her fingers were covered in grayish brown and dusk-like blue. She had a streak of lighter blue on her cheek. She looked tired, and it shone through in her watery smile. "The security guard," she acknowledged him.

"The art major," he showed a similar smile, and walked closer. He could see a pile of sketches, all of them with the same two colours that covered her hands. "Attempting to make a Rothko yourself?"

She nodded. "It's pretty peaceful to do, really. To not watch the details for once."

He frowned lightly. "Rough night?"

The girl sighed. "You could say that." She sounded exactly like he felt; overly exhausted. Her stomach also piped up at that moment, so it was complete.

He leaned back against a table nearby. "Do you wanna- Like, eat something?"

She looked up, and gently set the brush down. "That'd be good," she agreed, and wiped her hands on her clothing-protecting coat, before taking it off and throwing it with the others. She extended the cleanest hand - her right hand, because she was left handed, he'd noticed. "Clarke."

He took it. "Bellamy."

* * *

A comfortable silence hung between them as they picked up some sandwiches from a place that Bellamy knew about - apparently, he lived nearby. They communicated with tired looks, and she simply followed him to a bench at the edge of a small park to sit down. They ate in silence, and only after they finished, Bellamy started to speak.

"So, what happened?" he asked her. He had a low, husky voice, and it gave Clarke chills. She wanted to tell him everything, because he was almost a stranger and it seemed so easy, but she couldn't. Soulmates were still rare. What if he didn't understand? She secretly hoped to keep him around, not wanting to screw things up.

She decided to keep it at: "Bad dreams." Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her nose with her index finger.

"Oh," he uttered, the feeling that she was the one rising up in his stomach again. He pushed it away. "I'm sorry."

"Do you get any? Or do you just miss out on too much sleep?" Clarke looked at him sympathetically, at how exhausted he looked. A sad expression hung over his eyes.

"I've never had bad dreams. Not frequently, at least." He thought about the few he'd had, about waking up with a mountain of guilt in his stomach on top of his own. He hated those; it just wasn't what he needed. But when he dreamt in flashing colours, which was most of the time, he woke up feeling much better. He always focused on the good dreams.

"Hmm..." Clarke uttered, hugging her knees to her chest. "What do you dream about?" She yawned with her forehead resting on her legs.

Her question surprised him, and he took a moment to consider his words. "I dream about someone painting. A girl, I think. I've been dreaming about her all my life," As Bellamy spoke, he shot a glance at his companion, waiting for a possible response. This was the moment she'd recognise him if she did dream about him. She didn't respond at first, so he added: "I don't know, maybe I'm going crazy." He shook his curls, and crossed his arms.

Clarke turned very slowly, realising his words. She suddenly felt like the biggest coincidence was about to occur. "Sounds like you have a soulmate," she began, biting her lip. "You can see what she does in a day in your dreams, and, if everything's right, she sees what happens to you."

His face fell only half, because she hadn't called him crazy, and cleared up his whole life. But then again, she hadn't told him that was probably her.

He had been too fast. She sharply inhaled, and spoke: "I have one too, you know. But he's sad, almost every day. Some awful things have happened to him. I don't really sleep that well."

His heart fluttered in his chest, but as he took in her words, it sank right after. She was probably scared to fall asleep, while he loved to. He felt guilty, again. He wanted to reply, to tell her that he knew her. Her hair, her hands. He'd watched her draw everything. he wanted to say that he was sorry, for all the sleepless nights he caused her, but he was cut off by a phone ringing before he could scramble together the words.

It was his, and he saw it was the hospital, so he picked up. "I'm sorry," he mouthed to Clarke.

She shook her head. He had to leave her, running for the hospital, but he promised that he'd be back. She smiled only half a smile, before returning to campus.

* * *

Clarke barely slept for another two days. She fell asleep during biology and woke up feeling more awful. She also kept thinking about Bellamy, but didn't meet him again on campus. She was a girl who painted. And she had dreamt about a hospital multiple times over the past few days.

She considered going to the hospital when she hadn't seen him around, but when she came down with a stress fever, Raven stopped her. Clarke stayed in bed, drifting in and out of sleep. She was getting more and more sure; she'd met her soulmate.

When a set of knuckles came rapping on their door that night, Raven opened up. "No boys allowed," she joked, before Clarke could see who it was.

"Does Clarke live here?" It took her a few seconds before she realised it was his voice.

"Yeah, she's asleep," Raven said.

"No, I'm not," the blonde announced, climbing out of bed and walking up beside Raven. "Hey," she greeted the man outside their door.

"Clarke, you're sick," Raven countered.

"I'm fine. Raven, give us a minute, please?"

A little thrown off, Raven agreed. Clarke walked out in her pajamas. "Sorry I look like shit," she apologised, gesturing for them to walk through the hall for a bit.

"You really don't," he said.

"How did you find me?"

He inhaled sharply. He was taking a risk. "I saw it in my dream."

She stopped dead in her tracks. "It is you," she whispered, a glint in her eyes, and also an expression that was hard to identify.

He fidgeted with his fingers a bit. "I'm sorry, Clarke," His voice was so small. "I would've let you sleep if I could."

Unexpectedly, she threw her hands around his neck and pulled him close to her. He was taken aback, but finally wrapped his arms around her back as well. "I don't want to hear it," Her voice broke. "I would've let you live if I could."

He hugged her tighter. "Trust me," he replied. "You did."


	2. Chapter 2

She let out a sound he couldn't put a meaning to as she dug her nose into the crook of his neck.

Bellamy finally released her, and she looked delighted, staring up at him. He stroked a few strands of hair from her forehead, and then pressed his palm to her skin. "You do have a fever."

She tapped two fingers to his wrist and lowered his hand like that. "Just a little tired, Bellamy. It'll pass."

There was something about the way she said his name that gave him chills. Good chills. "Then get some sleep," he urged softly. He took his bottom lip between his teeth on the inside, considering his words carefully. "Octavia will be fine, and so will I. Does that help?"

Clarke nodded, and near her hips, their fingers tangled for a moment. "More than you know," she uttered. Their hands swung for a moment, and then she released. "Thank you, Bellamy."

"I'll see you later, Clarke. Get some rest," he smiled lightly. She nodded, and with a last glance, she left him in the hallway. Like the world had separated him and happiness for a long time. It was gone, but he would see it again. He was thinking that reunion would start now.

* * *

He could've kissed the nurse when she told him Octavia was okay to go home. The young nurse in question, Harper was her name, managed to remind him quickly that she had a soulmate. He backed away with an apology and told her that, yeah, he too, had one. He was just really happy that they saved his little sister. Octavia looked at him weirdly, but he didn't explain himself as he took the fifteen-year-old home with a smile on his face.

When they got home, Bellamy explained. He explained what he had called Elysium when they were younger, and he apologised again, because she had nightmares and he didn't. She hugged him and asked whether she would get to see his soulmate. Maybe one day, he said, maybe soon. He knew he still had a loan to pay off and work to do, but he couldn't stop smiling those few days, not even when customers were rude or people were annoying at the museum. He found her. Clarke.

She approached him during English class, about the only course they shared, and like absolute toddlers, they started to pass notes. After doing this for two classes, she wrote:

 _I feel like I've known you forever._

And he smiled down at the paper.

 _You_ have _known me since forever_ , he wrote back.

She drew a lot on her notes, she was left-handed, she was in pre-med, but majoring in art. Her favourite colour was blue, but she was into the white, chrome and wood aesthetic for living spaces. She liked cats and dogs, and didn't really see why people had to choose a side. "That's just cruel!" she whispered. "They're both too good." She wasn't that into vague poetry, he discovered, when Pike read one to them. She wrote:

 _No one listens to Pike_

He looked up at the board, read over the poem and smirked. He bent over the sheet of paper.

 _On purpose, love  
_ _That's the way things go around here_

She saw where he was going and chuckled lightly. Clarke withdrew the paper and when he got it back, under his large, block letters, her curly ones spelt something new.

 _Isn't this what anarchy is?_

 _Farewell, communism_ , he decided. She laughed, only to be shushed by some kids in front of her. He wished they hadn't done that. He wanted to hear that laugh forever. Whether it was about a stupid poem they wrote, or anything else. It sounded like singing when you're sure you're the last person on earth.

She used her phone under the table, and after ten or so minutes, he got the sheet of paper back, a nice portrait of an angry Stalin next to the poem. He nodded in approval. She asked if she could have the paper. He approved of that, too.

They exchanged numbers; Bellamy had a small phone that wouldn't break if you dropped a brick on it from ten thousand feet, so she texted him and he replied slowly, and with a lot of typos because his thumbs were too big for the dials.

After two weeks, she sent him a blurred picture of some scribbles on paper. He asked her what it was. She said she stapled their poems in their sketchbook.

He grinned, thinking about the other poems.

 _Hey, hello  
_ _Good day_

 _Apples!  
_ _Plums, apricots  
_ _Makes me hungry  
_ _Makes me angry_

 _Being happy_

And the other - which had been a conversation about drugs, but Bellamy turned one of her responses into a poem.

 _My friend Monty once ate a pinecone  
_ _Five years without wings  
_ _He's right, thought the pinecone  
_ _And he drifted away on the wind_

But then he saw her choice of words.

 _Our sletchbook?_ he texted back.

 _Oh yeah, Ive been drawing things bout u for a while now. Idk, just my interpretation of things_ , she replied.

 _Can I sef?_  
 _see_

 _If you want to._

 _Octava wants to meet you so come over maybe?_

 _SUre._

Bellamy gave her the address and time she could be there - on a Thursday night, because he didn't work on those - and suddenly felt a bomb drop in his stomach. He'd come over to their house. So they'd have to clean. And he'd have to cook for her.

He tried to break it to his sister slowly. She had become very curious, that came in handy. By the time he'd finished the dishes and he called her to come dry off, she'd cleaned her room, she announced. Bellamy smiled as the brunette took a wet plate from the rack and started to wipe off the water. He twisted her ponytail over her hand as he passed her, to scrape some books from the couch and stack them back under the wooden coffee table.

* * *

Clarke had been happy to hear that his little sister had shown interest. That was a good sign, right? She wasn't too focused on coming over to his place. What she worried about were the sketchbooks.

Maybe it'd be too early to show him? Her perception, the colour schemes... Was that weird? Maybe even intrusive? It was his life she painted in there, his life through her eyes in a haze of intense, flickering dreams. But she'd already mentioned it to him, and couldn't turn back now.

That night, she crashed on a bed next to Raven, to watch Ocean's Eleven - Clarke liked animated films better, but Raven objected and they took turns picking movies - and afterwards they conversed about the soulmate idea, their eyelids only half-open after the cheap bottle of wine they'd shared.

"Don't you feel like someone decided for you? Like you don't have a choice?" Raven dangerously waved with the coffee mug she'd filled with wine.

"It used to be much worse," Clarke brought up. "The soulmate connections used to be different, a long time ago. You knew that, right?"

"The tattoos? Yeah, everyone gets to hear about _that_ in middle school," Raven nodded.

"Now that's different. Because you wouldn't have met the person," Clarke explained, taking a sip from her own mug, and spilling a drop on her chin. She wiped it off. "I've lived in his skin, right? Besides, don't tell me you'd say no to him."

"Okay, what do you know about what I say yes and no to?" the Latina stopped her, holding one hand up in defense, a playful glint in her eyes.

Clarke giggled. "Trust me, Reyes, I know enough." She extended her legs over the lap of her friend.

Raven smirked, and Clarke knew it meant something along the lines of: I'd totally bang him if my roomie wasn't destined to be with him. They finished the bottle and went to bed. Later that week, Raven offered to help her pick something to wear. She hadn't realised just how much of a pain Clarke was when she got nervous. She'd seen her exam-nervous, but this, this was different. After four different tops, Raven was back to lying on her stomach and scrolling through her instagram. By now, Clarke started to doubt whether maybe it wasn't the top, it was the skirt, and switched it for pants, to reclaim the skirt as the option she would go with just two tops later.

"You look great, Clarke. He's already seen you in your pajamas. Now fucking leave, he's waiting!" Raven finally ushered her out of their room with those words, leaving Clarke with the three sketchbooks and a lot of doubts about the black skirt and the cropped red sweater she ended up with.

After taking the bus for two stops, she found herself at the bottom of a huge flat. When she rang the doorbell, a feminine voice croaked through the call system. "Clarke?"

Before she could reply, there was some rummage in the background, and his voice came to the front. "Hello?"

"Hi- it's me," Clarke answered.

"Yeah-" He laughed a bit, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but he sounded nervous as well. "We uh, we figured. Come upstairs, yeah?" The door buzzed, and Clarke pushed it open with her shoulder. When she wandered up some stairs, she found herself in front of an open door with their house number next to it. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

A brick landed in her stomach. She'd walked through this hall before. Her eyes went up, towards the source of the bright orange light that illuminated it. That hadn't been there. Her dreams had been gray, or in complete darkness. The walls had the same colour, but the lightbulb changed the atmosphere. Even so, it felt odd, coming in a hallway where she had never physically stood, but somehow had entered before. The face peeking from an opening on the left shook her awake.

His hair was still messy, she realised, and smiled lightly at the sight of it. He had a pair of thick-framed glasses on his nose and an apology in his smile. "Food's not ready yet, but it'll just be a minute," he spoke, tapping his fingers on the doorframe, waiting for a response.

Clarke looked about, and undid herself of her coat to hang it near the door. "No problem," she replied, looking over her shoulder. "It smells really good."

He brightened a bit more before ducking back into what appeared to be the kitchen. She felt free to follow him, so she did.

The kitchen spilt into the living room, and at the table sat a girl with dark hair and fierce features. She had dark eyes that she made look bright, and extended her hand to the newcomer enthusiastically. "Octavia," she introduced herself.

Clarke accepted the hand, of course, and replied with her name, although she was sure the girl already knew. "I've- heard, a lot about you." Her sky blues flickered to Bellamy for a second. Most things Clarke knew about the younger girl, she hadn't really heard him say. He returned the glance, but didn't say anything. Something beeped, and he went back to the sizzling pans on the stove.

"Take a seat," he urged gently. "Take your shoes off, if you want. Make yourself at home."

The blonde did sit down, but left her shoes on. Not because she wanted to leave quickly, but because she felt a little weird just taking them off like that. Maybe later.

Bellamy set his pans down, and held up two different glasses. "Wine, or not?"

"Please!" Octavia joked before Clarke could say anything. Bellamy shot her a glare, but Clarke laughed. She then turned back to the older brother. "Yes, please."

When he poured her some, they sat down and ate. Bellamy was either a very good cook, or this was the only dish he could make well. Either way, Clarke was impressed; she sucked at cooking. She made sure to let him know she enjoyed it.

Octavia was straightforward and passionate, like her brother. She seemed to be very good at filling silences, where Clarke would share a look with Bellamy, just long enough to see the tips of his ears turn red. She'd just take a bite then, or laugh or reply to Octavia's words. It was nowhere near tense, the blonde realised, and was oh-so glad about it.

After dinner, she insisted on doing the dishes, or helping in some way. His sister quickly offered to help, and it was clear that she shooed him away, to another room. As she dried the plates that Clarke handed her, she talked, and Clarke mostly listened. Near the end, she suddenly nudged the blonde with her elbow.

"So I feel obligated to do this, because my brother meddles in my life all the time," An eye-roll was audible in her tone. "But, soulmates or not, if you break his heart, I will kick your ass, you hear me?"

Clarke wanted to laugh, but wasn't sure if she was one to mess with the fierce young woman, so she nodded. "I'll take that to heart." She couldn't, however, help a smile from creeping up on her face. Octavia returned it, and finished up.

* * *

Somehow, it was as if Octavia knew more about this than he did. While he didn't really know what to do whenever Clarke really looked at him, Octavia knew her place and did exactly what was needed of her in every situation. She filled a lot of silence at dinner, but quickly announced that she was going to bed after doing the dishes. "Go to sleep before twelve, this time?" Bellamy called after her, but the brunette didn't reply. He smiled softly, and padded back into the kitchen.

Clarke looked a bit lost, standing near the kitchen counter. He approached her, giving a gentle smile and reaching into the overhead cupboards, grabbing two clean glasses. "More wine?" he asked. "Or water?"

"Let's do water," Clarke laughed briefly. His lip curled up, showing his teeth as he turned to tap water.

They sat on the couch, on opposite sides, facing each other. Bellamy had his legs dangling off the side. She had taken off her shoes and folded her knees in front of her chest. She laughed again, and because Bellamy was sure she felt the same thing he did, he laughed along.

"Apparently, we're meant to be," she finally uttered, blue eyes shining up at him intently.

"It's funny, really," he replied. "You've been making me happy since I knew what a dream was, but I didn't dare think you were real. And now, you're sitting in my living room."

"I didn't want to meet you for a long time," she admitted, raising her glass to her nose as she sipped the clear liquid. "but here we are, indeed. And I don't know how this is going to unfold."

"Let's see, then," he shrugged, granting her a small grin.

Her smile was enlightening, he found. He'd already seen it in class a few times; a genuine smile. One that lit her eyes up like stars had found a way to shine during the day, one that crinkled the skin around her eyes and dipped her cheeks a little. Her mouth then formed an o, and she stretched her legs, leaving the room to get something.

She returned with her bag, the one he'd watched her carry in. She'd left it near the door and had forgotten about it. The blonde fell back into the cushions, this time leaving both feet on the floor, and pulling out some books.

"The sketchbooks," she explained, stroking a thumb over the cover.

He eyed it with awe, until he realised she was waiting for him to say something. He looked up to her eyes briefly. "Can I uh, can I see it?"

"That's- what I brought them for," she nodded, and piled the books onto his lap. "Number one, number two, and number three."

While he opened the first, she leaned over to watch the pages as he flipped through them slowly. An odd feeling clung to him as he did. That was his house, the house that was never a home, and she had called it her perception of things, but of course it was his perception. Everything through his eyes. She used charcoal, black and grey pencils and occasionally put in a black piece of paper, where a white pencil had been used to make shapes in the darkness. Glass, cigarettes, plates with little to no food on them. She had drawn just a pair of sunken eyes sometimes. Octavia's. His dad's lips were in there, stuck to the mouth of a bottle. His own hands, beaten to pulp on a wall or a tree. Blood had been accentuated with red, but it wasn't the exact colour of blood. Not that he could blame her.

The drawings got better throughout the book. He'd noticed that before he noticed the dates in the right upper corner, which ranged from six years ago to four years ago, at least through the first book. Halfway through, it occurred to him that she'd consistently put a smudge of colour on each page, in the bottom right corner.

"What's this?" He pointed to a faded purple under a drawing of a collection of bottles on the countertop. He flipped back to the first page, where the smudge was just black. His eyebrows creased into a frown.

Clarke blushed, and took her bottom lip between her teeth as her fingers traced both colours. "This is just... something I did on accident in the beginning, but eventually I started to do it every time I drew in this book. I think it was..." She halted in the middle of her sentence, and stopped to think for some time. He glanced at her as she drew in sharp breaths multiple times, opened her mouth and then closed it again, like she needed to reconsider her words more. "I just- I felt like, in the beginning, I could be there to carry this with you, you know? Maybe I'd meet you in time to make you feel strong?" Again, she paused. He wanted to speak up, but she interrupted. "It was like a- a feeling. Like seeing you stand at the edge of an abyss, and the darkness was asking you: 'What are you going to do now?' And I- I wanted to get up, stand next to you, and tell you that we- we'd figure it out, but the abyss would tear me away from you and show me a different hole in the ground, and it'd ask me what I was planning to do. What was my plan? I didn't know what I could say! I didn't even know your name!" She drew in a sharp breath once more, and directed her stare back to the purple smudge. "And the more I wanted to answer, the more colours I passed and it got me further and further, asking new questions on how I wanted to go on. But I didn't want to go on, I wanted to go back, back to you." Lacking anything to do but explain herself, she flipped on through some pages. "It was a sick board game, and all you were allowed to do was lose turns." The last words came out quietly, and she stared at a brownish orange. "The colours- I don't know. They're a countdown without an end. Because I hadn't seen the whole board before I began to play, and I didn't know when I'd be getting back to black. To square one."

Bellamy fidgeted with a strand of his hair as he listened. When she seemed to be finished, he looked up, desperately seeking her blue gaze. "Does that mean we're in the black now?"

Her lips curled up only slightly, as she extracted the third book from his lap. With nimble fingers she flipped through the pages, and showed him a picture of his face. It was a quick sketch, he saw, but in the right bottom corner was one word: finish.


End file.
